


Cornerstone

by LuciferIsSatan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Awkwardness, Escapism, First Meetings, Infatuation, Longing, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:25:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5563396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuciferIsSatan/pseuds/LuciferIsSatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revyn wouldn't be the first to admit that Windhelm perhaps wasn't the best home for him and his kind to prosper. The locals would rather they leave, the Jarl tolerated them just barely, and all of this prejudice was beginning to effect much of his business. However, he knew it was the best that he was going to get; content with it, even. It wasn't until an incident in the market place that had most of his goods scattered about the concrete and a frantic stranger helping him to his feet, that made him really wonder what it was that he had been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornerstone

**Author's Note:**

> Cornerstone: an important quality or feature on which a particular thing depends or is based.

The first thing that had occurred to him was the feeling of falling.

Well, perhaps it wasn't the _first_ thing, seeing as he can distinctly remember something slamming into him when he had been walking, _mindfully_ , with more than an armful of his recent shipment of goods. However, the falling had been far more prominent for him to process, with his head throbbing from the impact of the cobblestone and his items strewn about in a mess, likely broken, and he couldn't help but think that his mornings never seem to go the way he wants them too.

Revyn had half a mind to believe that pesky Viola Giordano had something to do with it too, and if she had, he realized belatedly that he wouldn't have been surprised. She was one of the worst of the lot when it came to the abuse much of the Dark Elves, his kin, dealt with on a regular basis. She spread her petty little rumours, confronted the guard's about some unruly business that she had, quite frankly, created from the wind simply in attempt to drive more of his kin out of their homes, and it to put it plainly, he supposed it wouldn't be the first time she'd had a hand in him losing his step and in retrospect, much of his wares.

He'd been expecting to hear her perky voice, smug and bittersweet as she hummed a fictional apology. Shrilly reminding him to watch his step when walking around a lady, before scurrying along her way to titter with her friends about this incident later on. What he hadn't expected was the startled shout of a voice that sounded both deeper and softer than Viola's, the apologetic shake in their voice like rustling leaves and wind chime's and for a moment, Revyn wasn't entirely sure he had survived the fall.

Though the spike of pain when he tried to move reminded him that he was, in fact, still alive, and still very much on the pavement. Groaning, Revyn pushed himself to his elbows, eyes screwed shut and teeth chewing on his tongue while he fought down a cry of pain at the sharp sting throbbing on the back of his head; brushing a hand over the spot told him that he wasn't bleeding, but he was going to have a nice bump within the next hour or so, much to his displeasure. It was then he realized someone had been speaking to him, their voice edging on both concerned and guilty and Revyn was wondering why they hadn't just run away before they attracted the guards. His explanation came when he tried to peek one eye open, receiving an eyeful of Stormcloak armour to which he found himself sighing; why, today couldn't _possibly_ get any better.

Though, that barely explained the warm hand that's settled over his arm and the other that was assisting him carefully to his feet, catching him when he stumbled. Truthfully, Revyn imagined he might have been far more embarrassed over the notion, had his head not been fit to burst; so he accepted the helping hand in kind, even when he was considering all of the harsh things he figured he ought to say because of this strangers complete disregard for anything around them. Though, perhaps, it was the urgency in their voice that stayed his tongue.

"-for all the damages, and are you alright? You have not spoken. Sir?"

Revyn groaned, reaching one hand up to wave away the questions. He coughed, "Yes, yes, m'fine," Revyn blinked harshly a few times before his vision lost it's bleariness, and the stranger in front of him became somewhat clear. Ah, the Stormcloak was an elf. A wood elf, as a matter of fact. Revyn frowned deliberately; what was a wood elf doing as part of the Stormcloak rebellion? Shaking his head, he scowled, "you really ought to watch your step."

The elf had the decency to look mightily guilty, and as Revyn was able to catch his balance again, gave the Stormcloak a thorough once over. He was certainly male; long blond hair, freckled cheeks and a visible hunch in his shoulders. There was an old longbow over his back, along with a steel double sided axe and some arrows, with dark circles under his bright eyes, causing him to look tired - _rushed_ , Revyn supplied absently, pushing carefully away and brushing the dirt from his pants. Although a grown adult, the elf had a way of looking like a reprimanded child, head lowered a fraction with hands picking at a loose string at the hem of his uniform.

"My sincerest apologies, sir-"

"My name is Revyn."

"Pardon?"

Revyn sighed harshly through his nose, "I said," he went on a bit slowly, arms crossing over his chest, "my name is Revyn Sadri, and I'd prefer if you'd bloody well remember it. None of this _sir_ business. You'll have me feeling far older than I ought to."

Despite the clear discontent in his tone, the Stormcloak elf raised his head with a smile, though small on his lips it was there all the same. Stepping back a pace, he effectively startled Revyn for the second time in minutes as he dipped into a gracious little bow as one would do for perhaps royalty, but certainly not for a merchant, before straightening himself up with a leisured "Galvorn Túrin, at your service."

"Ah," Revyn's mouth clicked shut, watching Galvorn wearily as he tried to remember what it was that had upset him in the first place. When his eyes fell to his feet, he saw one of his cabbages sitting in the dirt, startling him out of his pause as he dropped to his knees hastily, "oh _dear_ -"

"No, no- let me get that-" Galvorn had fallen down from where he stood into a crouched position, grabbing what could be salvaged into his arms, until one of the nearby guards shouted in their direction. Revyn was getting to old to be startled every few minutes, but that didn't stop his blood from running cold when heavy boots stomped their way over.

"Master Túrin!" Revyn kept his head bowed, hands growing shaky as he tried focusing on gathering the rest of the apples before the wind started blowing them away as they had his cabbages. He forced down a shaky sigh as he focused on his task, keeping his eyes averted as he fumbled for what goods he could yet salvage. The Stormcloak pushed himself to his feet, the clanking of his gear loud in his ears as was the slice of metal sliding against metal when Galvorn had hissed ' _Lydia, don't_ ' under his breath.

"Sir, is this Dunmer bothering you?" Revyn closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose; the grab of leather clad fists, that he had been expecting, never came. Neither did the violent shakes or rough hands jostling him about like they were ought to when he had made some sort of unintentional slight that had inconvenienced them in some way or another. Revyn prepared for the worst when he heard the elf shift in front of him.

"Of course not," Revyn's head snapped up in surprise, "I was in a rush and had run into him. Allow me to handle this, as it is my doing."

The guard seemed unconvinced, as if she hadn't been watching the whole scene play out to begin with but allowed it. Her eyes snapped down to Revyn with a clear sneer, before waving off as she began to retreat back to her post, "clean this mess up, and you-" her expression narrowed, frowning at the dark elf with a sniff, "don't let it happen again." And with that, she left without so much as a 'by your leave'. He didn't move for some time, fingers brushing over the flat surface of the broken glass from the potion vials that had been shattered upon impact, luckily some of the least worrisome ones that won't cause him harm once he made contact. Revyn watched her go with a shaky breath, in near disbelief but the feeling didn't last very long when he remembered he was still in the company of a Stormcloak and his guard.

"By Y'ffre, what was that about?" Galvorn breathed, turning to look over his shoulder to the woman, _Lydia_ , if Revyn remembers correctly, who simply shook her head in response. He noted how her hand loosed over the hilt of her weapon, and couldn't help but wonder over how tense she was; Galvorn was apart of the Stormcloaks, was he not? What threat would he be under if the guard clearly knew both his name and called him sir?

"The Nords here don't care for Elves," she said, her hands falling lazily to her sides as she relaxed, "you're an exception, my Thane."

Galvorn gave her a look that she rolled her eyes at, although the dark elf couldn't exactly make out what it had been from where he was still sitting. The two of them seemed to have an entire conversation with just their eyes until Galvorn looked back to the ground where Revyn was still making work of collecting his things, moving slow and deliberate as to not cut himself on some of the sharper shards still littering the stone.

"Master Sadri," Galvorn addressed him, reaching out his hand for the other to take but Revyn wasn't biting the bait. However the bosmer insisted, and eventually the dunmer relented, although significantly reluctant as he reached his own hand forward, though Galvorn did nothing but assist him to his feet. He smiled that same smile before glancing to the Nord woman at his flank, "Lydia, would you mind taking him home? I don't like the way those guards are eyeing him." 

"Of course, sir."

Revyn sputtered, "I _assure_ you that won't be necessary-"

"No, I insist," Galvorn waved him off, "and if you're worried about your wares, I'll collect what I can and return them. I'm sure you know the way?"

"I do," he said carefully, biting down a rather crude retort on whether or not _he_ does, but opted to say nothing on the matter. "I trust you won't take anything?"

He was almost certain he had heard the Nordguard scoff at him, though he was positive he didn't miss the dirty look that flashed over the bosmers face when it happened. Instead of justifying the sound that his guard had made, he simply put a hand over his heart, "I swear on my honour, I won't take any of your wares."

Somehow Revyn didn't trust him, but allowed it anyways. If he were to be robbed, then at least there wasn't a blade to his neck when it happened, and he'll simply just have to figure out how he was going to survive the next few weeks until his new shipment came in. Wearily, he nodded to the bosmer, before beginning his walk back to his shop. He could hear Lydia a few paces behind him as he made his way through the streets, passing the Gnisis Cornerclub before reaching the door to his shop. Fumbling for his key, he bid the guard good morning, though she didn't seem to catch the hint to leave and followed him inside without a word; Revyn knew better than to be discourteous, so bit his tongue from asking her to leave.

The warmth of his home was a delightful welcome, even if it did make him painfully aware of the throb on the back of his head. He listed off the things he would have to do now, to make up for the sudden lack in income from what he'd lost, and what needed to be improvised for the time. Unsure of what to do for the moment, he set himself to the task of reorganizing what was left of his last shipment, and what he had bought from scavengers. Rearranging, replacing, and removing completely as he worried over how everything looked, whether or not his display was straight, and why was she looking at him like that? He wasn't sure whether or not he would have said something when a knock sounded on the front of his shop, to which Lydia turned towards and pushed open.

Galvorn stepped in, bringing the brisk breeze of the morning air with him along with an armful of goods that Revyn was quick to take from his arms and place over the counter. Whatever clattered and slipped off, Galvorn wordlessly put back up as Revyn thanked him as he stocked up his supply's; pulling out some parchment from one of his back shelves, he pulled out a quill and some ink, marking and scribbling some things down. What he had and what he didn't, totaling his losses. His hands moved in rhythm as he stocked and categorized, wishing they'd just leave and that maybe if they recognized that he had a business to run, they'd scurry off to whatever they had been in a rush to get to previously.

Yet, as he place away the food, checked over the beat up armour, and tested the blades, they stayed put. With a huff, he shook his head.

"You don't have to just stand there," he commented, willing his voice to stay steady, "feel free to look around if you wish. I've plenty to sell."

Galvorn nodded to Lydia, who nodded back and moved over to where he had the weapons stored, rummaging through the bows. Galvorn seemed to have no such interest, instead stepping up to the counter, pulling out a pouch and placed it on the counter, to which the dunmer eyed carefully. Once Galvorn realized he wasn't going to just take it, he cleared his throat, "ah, it's to make up for what I broke," he nudged it a little further onto the counter, "should be a few hundred coins in there."

Revyn's eyes dropped to the pouch, his brows knitting together as his lips worked over to silently mouth ' _few hundred_ ' before shaking his head. No. No, that can't be right. He narrowed his eyes at the Stormcloak, frowning at his smile. "Look, I don't know what you're game is, but-"

"No game! There's..- there's no game," Galvorn's hands were raised in something akin to surrender, his palms facing outward, expression genuine. "I know, it must seem odd. I know that perhaps I may have ulterior motives, and if I were you living in Windhelm, I'd think them bad. Yet I loath terrible first impressions, and I've done nothing but be terribly strange to you. Allow me to amend this so our future encounters aren't so.." one of his hands did a little idle circular swoop in the air by his head, as if sifting through his thoughts to find the right word, "antagonistic."

He pushed the pouch a little further onto the counter, but this time, his hand lingered over the coins. Revyn wasn't sure what came over him when he reached his own hand forward, but could name the feeling he felt as propriety when he stopped just short of the other's hand, playing it off as leaning on the table rather than an unnatural need to.. well, to do _something_. Galvorn likely didn't notice, and if he had, he didn't comment on it.

Revyn bit down on the inside of his cheek, glancing away from both the gloved hand and the coin pouch underneath. "You said you had an ulterior motive?"

Galvorn gave a soft hum, "I wish to use your services in the future, as long as you're not adverse to it. I'd hate to overstay my welcome."

Seemed fair enough, "Of course," Revyn hummed, watching as Galvorn lifted his hand from the coins and let his arm slip back to his side. Revyn was careful not to grab the pouch too quickly, but didn't miss the pleased expression on the wood elf's face once he finally picked it up. "Though I'm certain you overpaid some of the damages," most of what had been lost was food and some potions; none of which would have added up to this much. "So feel free to take what you need for today. No extra charge."

Galvorn's face fell, "No, that's not what I-"

"Oh please, I'm not saying you expected anything in return. I personally hate owing favours, as you've quite made up for your mistake and then some." Revyn looked over to where Lydia was standing, testing out one of the Ancient Nord Bow's that one of the mercenaries passing through had sold him for a bit of extra gold. "For the both of you," he added after a moment, "take it as a thank you for the safe passage as well." 

Galvorn seemed momentarily on the verge of either accepting or arguing, but Lydia made the decision for him by carefully placing the bow onto the counter, along with a set of arrows. She looked to the Stormcloak pointedly, seemingly trying to figure something out before looking to the dunmer with a polite smile, "he would like to buy some Minor Healing, Master Sadri. He's also in need of a new sword, if you have any lying around?"

Galvorn didn't make an attempt to argue with her, so Revyn made no note of his odd silence, "Of course, right this way." And so it went.

After they had finally taken their leave, and the dunmer was left alone to clear up the clutter, he didn't expect to see much of them again for some time. It was always this way with adventurer's; they promise to return, and they turn up dead in some Nord ruin halfway across Skyrim. Sometimes they settle down, other times imprisoned. It made little difference, as they rarely made more than perhaps three visits before it nears their last. It was dangerous out there, and with the recent rumours flying around about dragons and some sort of ancient warrior returning to the land of the living, born of dragon or something of that nature. He wasn't sure. Never paid any mind to such things, especially when gossip turned sour around these parts. To be fair, it was rather difficult to find out what was true anymore and what wasn't.

Though, on fact alone, traveling through old ruins was dangerous business. Not to mention that although the wolves, and trolls, and ice wraiths may not have been dragons, they were threats none the less, and threats that preyed upon the weary traveler, so whether these rumours proved folly or otherwise, he doubted he'd see much more of the Elven Stormcloak; opting to worry over the nature of an elf actually joining the Stormcloak's while he fretted over the nature of his volumes littered about, rather than over a strangers well being.

Revyn blamed himself for being so distracted with his lists when he heard the shoppe's bell ring some odd amount of weeks later, knowing he could have easily avoided the surge of panic that clenched up his chest after his ' _Please, take a look around,_ ' was chased by a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and the rush of warm wind dancing through a dusty old cabin surrounded by nothing but forests. His head snapped up and willed his startled expression into something far more mild, which was a technique he's nearly mastered, especially when it's one Viola Giordano that's stumbled into his shoppe rather than a Regular.

Galvorn was still chuckling as he stepped up to the counter, Lydia in tow with a pinched smile on her own face, supposedly after having told a particularly funny story. Revyn knew better than to ask, so instead he smiled and gave his usual spiel of welcome which Galvorn took in kind, exchanging the usual pleasantries as they began sorting over what was going to be sold and what was going to be bought. The bosmer wouldn't say where he had come across some of these, quite frankly, priceless gems, but downplayed their worth to make a few extra coins to pay for some potions; Revyn had bit his tongue on asking whether or not he was feeling well, noting the dark circles under his eyes and that his cheeks were somewhat sunken in. It wasn't his place, he reminded himself, and dutifully sold him his items and took those gems off of his person and under the desk where he felt he could examine them later without any disruption.

Lydia walked around deliberately, turning over every arrow and plucking every bow and perhaps Revyn might have noticed; in his own defense, of course, for not keeping an eye on his things (none of which Lydia had even been interested in, and later came to find she was buying time) was for the irritatingly charming bosmer that had him talking about things he perhaps shouldn't be telling a customer, but finding himself unable to stop, or question why he was saying so in the first place. It was some odd amount of minutes later when he caught himself, feeling his cheeks heat up as he recalled their transactions were unfinished and he'd quite frankly lost count of where they had been to begin with.

"Oh dear, and listen to me go on and on. I'm terribly sorry Master Túrin-" his back straightened, and from the corner of his vision he could see the elf straighten up as well -had he been leaning on the counter?- as Revyn gathered up the coins and started over, checking the materials and what he had already collected, "I swear I'm usually not so absent. I-I hope I wasn't holding you up for anything?"

That seemed to snap the elf back into attention who was quick to shake his head, "not at all." Galvorn smiled, gathering the potion's from the counter and slipping them away, "I enjoyed listening to you go ' _on and on_ '," when he took a step back from the counter, he paused, "perhaps the next time I come in I can tell you about some of my own personal adventures, if that interests you?"

Revyn had meant to say ' _no_ ', because business was business, and lines became blurred once things became somewhat personal and it was bad practice to become too interested in one customer. Yet that hadn't stopped him from saying "I look forward to it," and only half realizing that it had actually come out of his mouth by the time he was granted another one of those bright upturns of the others lips, already halfway out the door. 

For someone who prided themselves on their manner of speaking, he tended to lose control of his mouth when that Stormcloak was near.

It wasn't until that night when he was closing up shoppe, abruptly shaking away unsavoury thoughts of adventure and blonde hair did he realize that perhaps he had a problem.

Not a severe one, of course; just an uncomfortably unfamiliar one where he no longer feels able to grasp a hold of the situation. It was a sinking feeling that's sunk it's icy claws into his belly and made his chest clench in both warmth and fear; like moths released into his body, fluttering viciously but finding no place to escape. Revyn felt sick that night as he closed up shoppe, locking his door and forgone heading to dinner. Instead he opted to lay half undressed in bed thinking about what it would feel like if he had left Windhelm, if just for a day. Wondering why he never got out to visit Whiterun, or even Solitude, and where his sister was now and how she was doing.

For the first time since he's settled in Windhelm, he found himself thinking of the world outside of it other than the world that had been taken from him after the eruption of the Red Mountain in Morrowind; he had been young when it had happened, of course, but that hadn't made the loss any less horrific. Still, he thought of the mountains he's never seen, and the cities he's never visited, and this sudden urge to leave left him feeling wrong in his own skin.

 _Adventures are for someone else_ , he'd reprimanded himself, for who knows how many time's it has been at this point, pressing his fingers to his lips with a frustrated sigh. _You are a well respected pawnbroker and merchant. Throwing that away would be the end of you._ Though the thought did little to discourage his musings, even as he finally kicked off his shoes rather than placing them neatly away; chasing away dreams with dreams with his face buried into his pillow, trying to force himself to sleep.

As the days went on, that sickness did little to ebb, but he learned to live with it and bottle it up with every customer and restocking he did. Keeping busy kept his mind off of it, and learned to fear the hours where the sun dwindled under the horizon and left him alone with his thoughts. The curiosity and need to wander was unbecoming, and quite frankly worrisome, affecting his workload as if it were a physical thing, rather than something in his head. Though, he thought idly, it's in more places than just his head; he can feel it in his chest. In the way his foot taps, almost impatient, or the way his fingers drum across the counter. It's the chewing of his inner cheek, and the needless blank stares he's been falling victim to doing every time he was alone.

His mood seemed to give off, he had found, once he finally made his bi-monthly trip to the market. Though no one had been courageous enough to ask, he seemed to be getting a fair bit of sympathetic and curious stares his way; at first, he hadn't even noticed. At least not until the one person he could have been fine without stepped up to him with a frown that could have been a sneer, tapping her foot impatiently when he didn't immediately acknowledge her presence, as he had been exchanging some coin for food. Though once he did look at her, it had nearly been a sneer of his own, but caught himself before making that mistake; instead he gave her a curt nod, careful to move his food a little further away from her reach.

"Yes?" he said with a polite shift in his feet, "is there something I can help you with?"

"Sadri," Viola said briskly, sniffing as to cause her nose to scrunch in distaste, "yes there is, as a matter of fact. I recently lost a gold ring. Very old, and very precious to me, I'm sure you understand. Has my initials engraved in the back? Sound familiar, by any chance?"

His hand ghosted over the fruits in his basket; it sounded familiar, certainly. She never seemed to take the thing off of her, other than to string it around her neck, and even then, she kept it firmly tucked away and safe. The only reason he ever knew about it, or even noticed it, was due to how often she would mess with it. Twisting it between her fingers, stroking it idly, playing with it without thinking. Revyn nodded to her absently.

"Oh, good," she hummed, "now I don't suppose you know where it is _currently_ , do you?"

Revyn's polite demeanor dropped at her tone, his face twisting into a glower, "No. I don't."

The look she shot back wasn't one of awe-inspiring belief, however it wasn't complete disbelief either; _Skepticism_ , he supplied. Although unwarranted, if she knew the first thing about his business; or, as a matter of fact, the first thing about _him_.

Still, whether or not she knew or didn't, which was unlikely considering the busy body that she was, she continued on as if he were a impertinent child in needing of direction rather than a well established pawn broker. "Well, I simply had to make sure. Never can trust anyone these days, and with such squalor running amok, I can't say I wouldn't be surprised if it ended up in lesser hands."

"And what makes you assume that my hands are lesser, as you so put it, seeing as you came all the way over here to pester me over your petty business?" Revyn shook his head, waving off an undignified shout that she directed his way, "look, I don't have time for this. I have a business to run, and a _respectable_ one at that. Despite your assumptions about me, I don't deal in stolen goods, that's trouble I don't need. So, if you'd please?" he waved his hand to the side, signalling his leave, but unfortunately wasn't able to walk very far until she shouted after him, clearly incapable of getting the hint.

"Respectable? _Pah!_ The only thing ' _respectable_ ' about your shabby pile of cobblestone is that Ulfric _allows_ it to prosper at all!" the heels of her shoes clicked against the pavement, storming her way back into his personal space with a finger jabbing him in the chest, "and for someone who prides themselves on their speech, I suggest you watch your tone with me." Viola's voice dipped dangerously low, "remember who you're talking to."

His mouth snapped shut.

When he made no notion to respond, she took a step back, brushing her hands over her dress to straighten it out. "Good. I'm glad we sorted this out. Now, if I find out that you or any of you grey skins have your hands on it, I'll make sure the Jarl hears about it. Don't think I won't." Perhaps there would have been more to that sentence, maybe another string of threats, but Revyn didn't have the tolerance to hear anymore. Unable to properly defend himself without getting himself in any more trouble, he simply nodded and set off back to the Grey-Quarter where he know's he'll at least be able to bury himself in some odd thing or another. Despite her shouts, he didn't stop walking, and eventually, she stopped pursuing.

His rage and humiliation settled in his gut like a disease, festering like a sore. Grip tightening around the strap of his bag that was carrying his goods, his nails dug into the palm of his hand so sharply they drew blood. His thoughts clouding with his emotions that he couldn't make out either or, but just that he _hated_ it here. He hated the treatment he received, hated the Nords, hated Ulfric and this gods-forsaken war. He hated that he couldn't return to Morrrowind, hated that he had no choice but to put up with Viola's onslaught of cruelty, because his life and livelihood would be in danger if he pushed too far.

But most of all he hated Windhelm. He hated the cold, the bitterness, and most everyone in it. He was sick of being so afraid and worried all the time of whether or not boots would storm to his shoppe and force him out. He worried for his sister, and he worried for the other Dunmer that had been subjected to the same abuse; he was sick, and he was tired, and he thought of nothing else until he reached his shoppe, not thinking about his propriety when he stormed in which he briefly regretted when he got an eyeful of two painfully familiar figures standing by the counter and looking both exhausted and far too friendly for his liking at the moment.

Galvorn was leaning against the counter, seeming to favour one leg over the other, and for a moment worry overrode his anger but Revyn shook it away. _Not my place_ , he reminded himself, greeting them with a tight smile as he moved to where his personal quarters were so as to place his food for the week safely away from prying customers. When he reemerged, Galvorn had a stricken expression flash over his features, brows furrowed as he regarded the Dark Elf carefully, though the question he seemed to want to ask never made it past his lips.

Instead of reassuring the bosmer, as he knew he should have; plaster a smile, presume the role of cheerful merchant and go back into the normal barter between them - he instead frowned, unable to stop himself when he snapped, "why do you _wear_ that filthy thing?"

Galvorn seemed startled by the question, but not offended. Even did a little show of looking down at himself, when Revyn snapped impatiently, "the Stormcloak armour."

The bosmer stilled, though a curious quirk in his lips indicated thought, rather than hurt. Though Revyn should have been expecting an onslaught of Ulfric praise, he only received a tired looking smile, with leather clad hands brushing through already disheveled hair when Galvorn responded simply with, "would you believe me if I told you it was out of spite?"

For some reason, Revyn never pegged the bosmer as a spiteful sort. Seemed too friendly; charismatic and selfless. The anger deflated somewhat out of him.

"Spite?"

"You believe I joined because I want Skyrim to belong solely to the Nords?" Revyn regarded him, but Galvorn seemed to be willing to deal with none of it. Frowning with a roll of his eyes, "Master Sadri, I don't suppose you've heard any rumours about Helgen?"

Revyn nearly scoffed, "Who hasn't? Jarl Ulfric escapes captivity; some say he fought every one of the soldiers to escape, others say it was a dragon. Can't say I believe either, to be fair, and think he simply got lucky."

"You've half the story," Galvorn allowed with a slight tilt of his head, his fingertips drumming along the surface of the oaken counter, "you were right to assume that, yes, Ulfric had escaped captivity, and yes it had been a rather obscene stroke of luck on his part, but I daresay that he hadn't had to do much fighting in order to escape. I should know, I was there." Revyn's arm fell to the counter, head tilting slightly to the side as he listened, intrigued; Galvorn took that as he would, feeling encouraged as he continued, "We had been ambushed near the border. The Imperials were after the Stormcloaks, and, at the time, I had just been trying to cross over in search of my sister, and another poor fool had been captured after myself. I believe the Imperials thought us with the rebellion.

"I don't know what happened between getting captured and much of the ride over, as I'd been unconscious for most of it. Woke up as we were nearing the gates, with a thief, a Stormcloak I had never met, and the Jarl of Windhelm at my hip." Galvorn tugged at the braces of his gauntlets, and although his eyes were on the dunmer, they were unfocused, "Ralof, the ah- the Stormcloak I had mentioned, was a decent fellow. Told me what was happening, and although at the time, I felt the humourless irony of being at the wrong place at the right time, he helped me.. well, cope. I should say. Great first impression despite that we were being sent to our deaths. Spoke about true High Kings, and a war I had ever really heard in passing, and when the Imperials unloaded us, starting the executions..-" Galvorn’s lips pressed into a thin line, trailing off.

Revyn traced the edge of his mouth with his eyes, but caught himself when he realized that the silence was beginning to stretch. With a cough, he urged him to continue, not wanting to break the trance that the wood elf had set with his own impute just yet; not until the story was finished, at least. After another long moment, the bosmer pressed his tongue to his cheek, glancing over to where Lydia was standing, leaning by the archway of the shoppe, before he returned his attention back to the dunmer behind the counter.

"Started the executions," he started again, "cruel, loathsome people. Didn't think twice about who they were putting down, or why. They didn't have my name on record, didn't know my crime, which - mind you - I didn't actually have, but still they tried. Bound up, head over the basket, and the executioner over my neck when we first heard it. Booming roar, echoing and reverberating, and quite plainly, loudest thing I've ever heard. Like a volcano erupted just by my ear, but clearer. More.." he frowned, snapping his fingers a few times before producing "distinct."

"You saw it." Revyn murmured in disbelief.

Galvorn could do nothing but nod. "Dragon."

"I've.. heard the rumours," the dunmer continued uncertainly, "but they have been extinct for many years. Do you know where it came from? What did it look like? How did you escape?"

"Whoa, one at a time," the bosmer raised his hands with a chuckle, "look, I don't know yet. I've been approached a few times, but as of right now, I can't honestly say I know exactly where they're coming from just yet, but I do know they're coming back. Can't say for what purpose, or why, just.. I think they're -" he seems to hesitate, but whatever it was he was worried about revealing, he seemed to reconsider and say anyways, "between you and I, I think they're..-" he trailed off again, brushing his hand over the back of his neck and Revyn watched the gesture with a mild amount of interest, "I think they're being resurrected."

"Resurrect-" the dunmer stopped short, "wait. No. I don't want to know. Save that thought for another time, because what I _want_ to know is how you got away from all of this unscathed."

"Unscathed isn't a word I'd use, but I'm alive," punctuating 'alive' with a thump of his index finger against the counter, "I followed Ralof out. We fought our way out of Helgen underground after we alluded a few guards. We escaped through an old passageway, and stopped in Riverwood for a short time. He convinced me to join arms with Ulfric then and there, but, at the time, I hadn't known much of Ulfric's.. well, more unsavoury opinions. I joined the rebellion because they saved my life, and Ulfric seemed unconcerned of my race; especially after he found out about who I was. I suppose he saw me crucial to be on their side of the war, rather than their enemy."

"Found out who you were?" though when it came out of his mouth, Galvorn seemed to ignore that it had even been said.

"Doesn't matter," he waved the inquiry off before Revyn could even ask again, "and so.. that's why I wear the armour. In spite of the Imperials. Although there are many things with Jarl Ulfric I disagree with, I might.. well, I _do_ hope it may change some of his opinions of Elves. I can't claim it's doing much work, but at least I've seen far less abuse of the Dunmer's in this city since he began calling on me. Though.. I can see, perhaps, that it wasn't quite as effective for everyone." Galvorn looked at Revyn pointedly, gaze lingering, seeing but not dissecting. Revyn felt his chest seize up, throat constricted but swallowed thickly in spite of this. He dropped his hands to his sides, letting them slide off the table and out of sight so the bosmer couldn't see them shaking; whether this was out of anxiousness or anger, he didn't know.

"My.. problems, are minimal compared to your own. Think nothing of it."

"Minimal?" the word wasn't said to be insulting, nor really all that criticizing. Instead, the bosmer looked downright incredulous that he would even say such a thing, "I'm certain I didn't imagine you storming in here before spitting out something very close to hatred about Stormcloaks," though there wasn't any resentment in his tone, there was clear concern, a fair deal enough of it that it put the dunmer at a fair loss, "although I don't blame you, and I'm certain it isn't something new, the bought of rage speaks volumes on it's own, you know."

"Don't you patronize me," Revyn bit out, wanting to cling to his anger for once rather than force it down and swallow it until his throat hurts and he's blue in the face, "and how dare you try and-and _explain_ what it is I'm feeling. My problems are no concern of yours."

"And why not?"

Revyn tongue turned thick and stupid in his mouth when he attempted to find some sort of answer, sputtering a moment before snapping his jaw shut. "I-" he huffed, feeling his annoyance flare up with a frustrated growl, "I'll have you know that the minute I can think of a response, I'll tell you exactly where you can shove your ' _why not_ 's."

Irritatingly enough, Galvorn still didn't look deterred; just interested. As if he wasn't about to have a nearly violent dunmer on his hands in mere moments if he didn't wipe that stupid expression off of his face. Though, after a moment, it seem that he swallowed the notion that Revyn was genuinely distressed, that he looked at him with a sincere intensity that told the dark elf that he had a set of ears to listen, whether or not he even wanted them, and the notion brought forth a twinge of warmth that Revyn wanted to push down for just a moment longer. He wanted to feel angry, he didn't want it to go away; not yet. He wanted to feel selfish and bitter and lash out, because he never could with anyone else. Galvorn _wanted_ him to yell and scream. He wanted him to shout and throw a fit and let out all of his pent up frustrations, and Revyn did exactly that after a brief moment of fluttering hesitation that was quickly wiped away when Galvorn leaned against his counter; almost as if preparing himself for the worst but ready all the same. Doing this of his own free will, Revyn took the gift by the hand and began with a frustrated huff.

It all came pouring out as if a dam had been torn down and the water had been released in a rush. Though Galvorn seemed prepared for the onslaught, and showed with great patience his ability to swim. He poked and prodded and Revyn took the bait every single time, answered with retorts, reiterated, and the sinking feeling in his chest seemed to lift inch by inch, as if the divines themselves were carefully chipping away at it. So, impulsively, he told him about Windhelm and Morrowind, told him about the guards and the 'patrols' through the Grey-Quarter. He told him with a rush of anger of Rolff, and Ulfric, and the recent incident with Viola, because he was angry and upset and Galvorn seemed happy enough to listen, with a hand wrapped around the dunmers wrist as if to keep him grounded, or prevent him from actually swinging.

"..-I personally think that miserable wench simply misplaced it, and it's sitting in that oversized house of hers," he spat, as if it would somehow get rid of that bitter aftertaste in his mouth, "I rarely buy and sell much jewelry as it is, let alone stolen goods, and it would do her good to remember that."

"Why do you think she targeted you, then?"

"Oh, I don't know," Revyn muttered bitterly, "it's been awhile since I've looked in the mirror."

Galvorn didn't wince, he didn't, though there was certainly an unmistakable flash of something that crossed his face. "I apologize," he says after a moment, "that was.. insensitive."

"Infelicity," the dunmer shook his head, "in poor taste."

"I'll do better to watch my tongue next time, though my statement still stands." Revyn was becoming increasingly more aware of warm palm pressed against his wrist as the other spoke, as if he were coming back to himself slowly but surely. His cheeks felt heated and maybe even a little wet but Galvorn brought no attention towards it, and for this, he was grateful. With a careful swipe of his sleeve, he brushed over his cheeks, sniffing with a frustrated huff as if it would drain out the rest of his anger, and for all it was worth, it did help.

"I don't know," Revyn finally muttered, "I don't, I really don't. She never paid my work much attention in the past, and I'd think I'd realize if I'd come into possession of some stolen-" he paused, eyes shifting to the side and down towards the underside of his counter, "-golden ring. Oh. Oh no."

Realization was a cold thing in his chest, like a sharp panic that had been waiting to slaughter the butterflies in his belly. He pulled his arm free and moved over to the underside of his counter, and pulled out the iron box he kept his jewelry in for safe keeping; Galvorn made no notion to move as he unlocked it and began rummaging through it, pushing around the necklaces and gems until the chains became tangled but it didn't matter once his fingers brushed over the golden band he had bought just a week ago. It had felt like the air had been sucked out of him when he turned it over and saw the worn engraving of _V.G_ in elegant scrawl along the back.

Of course it had to be him. Of course he had to become careless just this once and buy something that could ruin him; if she got wind of this then the Jarl would hear about it for sure, and then what? Maybe Ulfric would finally have a reason to rid him of the city, or he'd make the living situation worse -- raise the taxes again, after the grey quarter was already struggling to keep themselves covered. Revyn can't even risk closing down the shoppe for a day if he wants to make sure he has enough to pay his dues, but what'll happen to him now? He can't keep it. Eventually she'll start sticking her nose around here, and he'll be found out about.

"Is that it?" Galvorn asked just over his shoulder, and Revyn nearly jumped out of his skin; he'd forgotten about his company.

"Yes," he breathed, "I.. I bought it last week from a traveler. I had assumed it was from an old ruin like the rest of their wares." Revyn twisted it nervously between his fingers, almost as if he was trying to get it to change shape and lose the specific markings along the side. A humourless chuckle broke from between his teeth, "I don't suppose I can convince you to do something recklessly stupid, can I?"

"You can if you ask," Galvorn answered just over the dunmers shoulder, "I'm always happy to help."

"Too happy, sometimes," Revyn turned to regard him. There was a long moment that seemed to pass, before Revyn breathed out heavily, averting his eyes back down to the ring in his hand, "I don't understand you."

Galvorn seemed somewhat taken aback, "what's there to understand?"

"You," Revyn said again, though it came out close to an enigma to him as it was to the bosmer, "I barely know you, and yet you're always here. You're happy to listen to my complaining, and never seem in a rush to leave when you get me talking. You're.. you're _supporting_ me, and I don't understand. Why? Why are you bothering to help me all the time? What do you gain from any of this?"

"Your trust."

Revyn stopped cold. "What?"

"I desire to gain your trust," Galvorn said again, though this time his gaze was averted, "and, well, your favour. Though if you'd prefer I write you a sonnet than help you out of a tight situation, then let me know."

The ring in his hand no longer seemed to weigh as much, as the words to respond alluded him for longer than deemed appropriate. When it came, it came slowly, and yet the only thing he found he was capable of saying, was "Oh."

For the first time since they've met, Galvorn no longer looked so certain of himself. It was enough to bring back his sense to reach his hand forward and grab the bosmer by the hand, dropping the ring into his palm with a tilt of his own. Licking his lips, he said, "I've never much cared for sonnets." and the smile he gained in return told him he hadn't entirely messed this up, whatever it was, even as he watched the other escape out the door with the ring placed carefully in his pocket. That warm feeling from before was back again, but at least now he understood what it was.

**Author's Note:**

> The first time I played Skyrim I played it for like three days straight doing nothing but trying to marry this guy. ( [Also, this is what Galvorn looks like (scroll down for second picture)](http://luciferissatan.tumblr.com/tagged/revyn_sadri)) -- This has been kinda sitting in my drafts forever, finished but un-edited, and I figured I should just get it over with and set it free. Un-beta'd, and I'm terribly sorry about mistakes; if there are any really bad ones, please let me know so I can fix it. ^^
> 
> Also?? I feel like Skyrim should have had an 'affection' button or something when speaking to spouses, because like, it would have been nice to have a few verbal options of things like 'I love you' or 'how was your day?' rather than 'i expect food and money from you b/c married'.


End file.
